


Things Needed to be Said

by Elrewin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elrewin/pseuds/Elrewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they see each other again for the first time in six years, Arya can't help but feel mad at Gendry. But that doesn't stop her from wanting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Things Needed to be Said

**Author's Note:**

> After the release of the new "The Winds of Winter"'s chapter (Mercy), I saw several comments wishing to have an older!Arya seducing our beloved Gendry. So, I did what I could. I hope it's not too ridiculous, please be clement !
> 
> The story takes place in the same universe than Gymnophoria (in my other work 'Drabbles'), so Arya is about 16. It's happening before.

Arya swallowed her wine greedily, letting the bitter drink burn her throat as she poured herself another glass. It wasn't good wine. It could hardly be called wine, in fact, but it was alcohol and that was exactly what she needed at the moment. « _Maybe if I drink enough,_ » she thought, « _I will fall asleep and won't wake up until tomorrow._ »

They had stopped at an inn near the main road a few hours ago. The owner, a stocky, grim man had seemed so happy to see them he hadn't even bothered to be suspiscious. Arya had chosen a seat in front of the door, her back to the wall as usual (she wasn't comfortable if she couldn't see the whole room) and she watched the men make fools of themselves as the night and the ale flowed. Some whores had shown at some point and the room was filled with laughter and honeyed words and the grunts of horny men.

She glanced briefly towards where Gendry was seated. He was japing with Harwin and Tom, his cheeks red from all the wine he had drunk. She didn't care about that. She had seen him drunk a few times. It was rare, but not unusual ; after all life wasn't easy with the Brotherhood.

But she _did_ care about the two whores seated besides him, each of them trying to catch his attention. They were pretty, she had to admit. One had really beautiful eyes and a nice smile, and the other had hair the colour of copper and the biggest pair of teats of the entire room. She could almost see Tom and Harwin drooling, but that wasn't surprising. She was more concerned by the fact that Gendry wasn't reacting to the touches of the women. She remembered that night a few years ago when they had stopped at this brothel – what was its name already ? – the Peach. She remembered how sullen he had been when the whores had teased him, and how he had stormed out of the room when that pretty black-haired one had hitted on him. But now, he didn't seem so bothered by their displays of interest. And that was upsetting her.

She knew she had no right to be. He was a man grown now, and they probably weren't – and wouldn't be – the only women to take interest in him. Time had really done a good job with him : he had become so _handsome_ over the years. He still had the same blue eyes, eyes that gave away everything, from anger and suspicion to joy and affection. But where had been a tall, clumsy boy now stood a man, even taller and broader than before. She had caught him a few times without his shirt and she could tell that the smith's work had come into play : he was muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Well, she wasn't a maiden but he had _definitively_ been in her fantasies.

The wine made him friendler, warmer, and she shuddered when she heard him laugh at one of Tom's jokes. The two whores giggled too, one of them going as far as stroking his arm. Her fingers tightened around her cup. She lowered her gaze, wishing to be somewhere, anywhere else than here. She didn't know why it was bothering her so much. It wasn't like she had been especially warm with him since she had run into the Brotherwood Without Banners a few weeks ago.

She was heading towards Winterfell, and for that she had to cross the Riverlands. She had met the men at an inn, including Lem and Harwin. They had not recognized her at first, and she had found it was good like that but then Harwin had stared at her a little longer. She had not thought about it at the moment. She was used to being looked at – girls travelling alone weren't really common these days – and as long as the men didn't act, she ignored them. She had been suspicious when he had sat at her table but he only wanted to talk.

She had agreed to travel with them for a little while. Loneliness had been her companion for so long, she had forgotten how nice it could be to have people to talk to. Nymeria was the love of her life but their talks were rather short, as the direwolf only growled and whined and inevitably ended licking her face.

At one point they had stopped at an inn with a lot of children, ruled by two girls, one about her age and another older.

And Gendry.

She had met him as she was going out of the stables to join the men in the common room, and he was going out of what apparead to be a smithy, his bare chest black with soot. For a moment she had thought her heart would burst out of her chest, but she had kept her face as frozen as ice. She still remembered that night ; him telling her he was joining the Brotherhood, that he was abandoning her. She knew it was silly to still resent him for that. After all, what future could he have had if he had stayed with her ? Being a smith in Riverrun for ever ? Being gelded by the Lannisters ? At least here he was useful, and alive.

But the pain it had caused her was still hard to bear. He had been her friend for so long. They had shared the same meals, the same dangers and the same sufferings. They had gone through a war together, endured the horrors of Harrenhal together, escaped together. She had thought he would stay with her forever. Of course that was only stupid, the stupid dream of a stupid little girl. He had had the opportunity to do something with his life, and he had taken it. But her heart was blind to her reasonings, and as she had felt the wound bleed again, she had made the decision to stay as far away as she could.

He however hadn't thought that way. In two steps he had been on her, grabbing her and crushing her in a bear hug. She had felt herself pressed against his chest – which, to her distress, was really nice - , unable to move. He had held her like that for an eternity, one hand slid into her hair, his chin on the top of her head. Even after all these years, he was still towering her.

« Is that you ? Is that really you ? » he had whispered in her hair over and over.

When he had finally released her – not entirely though, his hands were still locked on her shoulders - , it was to look at her right in the eyes.

« Arya... How ? I thought you were dead, we all thought you were... »

« I'm not. »

Her voice had sounded colder that she intended to. He had recoiled like she had slapped him. She had hurted him, she could see it in his eyes. She hadn't meant to, but she couldn't forgive him. Not yet. Not so soon.

Gently, she had slid out of his grip and said, avoiding his gaze « I'm sorry Gendry. Harwin is waiting for me. »

That was a lie but she couldn't bear to be near him any longer. Her feelings stormed inside her. She wanted to slap him and run into his arms, to yell at him and to kiss him and tell him to never let her go. But she couldn't let him see how confused she was ; she had run away as fast as she could.

Several weeks passed since that night. They had departed on the morning, and Gendry followed. She didn't know why. Her behaviour towards him had been less than appropriate, and nothing in it could have let him think she wanted him to (she did, but that was another matter). Besides, he had a life there. She had heard him fight with one of the innkeepers, the older one, but that had ended when he said he would be back soon. She didn't know what « soon » meant for him. Certainly not the same thing than for her, because he had kept with them for weeks now. He had tried to talk to her at first but she had shutted him down rather coldly, and he hadn't tried again since. But he was still there.

And her... She was still mad at him, but she also wanted to be and talk with him, to find her friend of so long ago. And there were these new feelings as well... These butterflies in her tummy that quivered when she looked at him – and that went wild when she surprised him without his shirt. She wanted to touch him so badly. To let her hands and her mouth test the firmness of his muscles. To kiss him hard and long until her breath went out. She wanted him to bury himself in her, to fuck her until her body cry for mercy. Oh, she wanted it so hard ! Some nights she woke ashing, her head full of her lusty dreams – but she didn't dare relieve herself, with so many men around.

Her mood had darkened with all these opposite feelings, and she had found herself barking instead of talking more often than she was proud of. The rain kept falling and they had run out of wine to forget it. Luckily, they had found this small inn in the afternoon and the promise of a featherbed and a hot meal had softened her enough to find her nice behaviour again. Until now.

She slipped her drink in one swallow, her hand already reaching for the pitcher. She was starting to feel dizzy, but she had learnt to drink with sailors. A few drinks would not be enough to knock her out.

Suddenly, a large shadow came blocking the light. A man, not from the Brotherhood. He was looking at her with lust in his eyes and a wicked smile. She didn't like it. It was the same as so many others, and easy to turn into a threat.

« No, » she said at once, before he could even utter a word.

« No ? No for what ? I only wanted to say... »

« I know what you want. And the answer is no. Go away. »

« But... »

« Go. Away. »

She threw him her iciest look, her fingers curling around the pommel of her dirk. She was used to this kind of confrontations. Sometimes it ended well. Sometimes it was messier. She hoped she wouldn't have to get to this extremity though. She would hate to sleep under the rain again.

She got lucky tonight. The man probably looked for an easier prey, and he soon turned to one of the whores. She stared back into her glass but she wasn't in the mood anymore. Her head was buzzing and she was starting to feel a headache coming. Suddenly the laughs, the honeyed words and the grunts of horny men were too much for her. She stood up and hurried out of the room into the coldness of the woods.

Night had fallen a long time ago and the moon was high in the sky. The rain had stopped, only leaving a thousand drops that shined like stars under the moonlight. She reached for Nymeria but the she-wolf was busy hunting a deer, so she let her be. Game was rare these days, and she hadn't had a real prey for a long time now.

The inn had a well close to the stables. The rain had filled it until it almost overflowed. Slowly she went to it and sat on its edge. The wine had given her a nice warmness, and soon she even found she was _too_ hot, despite wearing only a light linen shirt. She undid its laces a little, cupped her hands in the water and sprayed her face and neck. Gloomily, she stared back at her reflexion on the dark pool.

The water showed her a lean wisp of a girl, with sharp features and a mane of dark hair that fell in lazy ringlets about her shoulders. All these years under the sun of Essos had coloured her skin with a light hale, though it couldn't be seen in the night. The wine had given her almond-shaped eyes a blurry look, and they were shining under the moonlight. Her eyes were the only thing she thought pretty, mostly because they reminded her of her father and her brother.

« No wonder Gendry likes her so much, » she thought bitterly, remembering the red-haired whore and her huge tits. She eyed her lithe but desesperatly flat silhouette, wishing for the first time to be more womanly- more ladylike. The thought made her remember another red-haired girl, and it saddened her.

The creek of wood dragged her out of her thoughts. Speaking of the devil, Gendry closed the inn's door behind him. He hadn't bothered to take his coat and he was only wearing his shirt and breeches. She couldn't help but admire how his muscles tightened the fabric on his chest, how big and strong his arms were. _They could lift me and hold me without a twitch,_ she thought. He could pin her against the wall, on the floor, and she would be at his entire mercy. She wondered what he would _do_ to her if she was, and while she loathed being the tool of anybody's desires, what she pictured was too pleasant for her to get mad.

« Arya, » he said, seeming rather surprised to see her. Had he even noticed she was gone ? « What are you doing ? You'll get a cold. »

For a few seconds, she didn't know what to say. What was she doing, indeed ? She was being ridiculous. Was she going to hold her grudge her entire life, refusing herself what she wanted so badly when she could die at any moment ? And she did want him. She wanted his body, sure, but she also missed their complicity, the knowledge that he was always there, ready to back her up. She wanted that, she _needed_ that. Gendry had been a constant in her life for months. She had been sure he would never leave her, and that's why it had hurt so bad when she realized he wouldn't. But she wasn't a little girl anymore ; she had learnt the way of life, she knew she couldn't ask more than people were willing to give. She was so... tired to be alone, she only wanted a friend.

But she also _really_ wanted his body. He was so handsome, it made her ache between her legs everytime she set eyes upon him. He was still there, waiting for an answer, and only that was sufficient to arouse her. She rubbed her legs together, hoping that the fire between them would soothe, but it only increased it. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice told her to say something, anything, to hold him there. She couldn't let him go back in the common room, straight in the arms of that whore. She couldn't. She swept away her doubts. He was hers. At least for this night.

She had been around enough whores to know how to drive a man crazy, but she wanted more subtlety. With the Black Pearl, she had learnt how to bring him to his knees and leave him at her mercy but she didn't need to go that far. She just needed to seduce him.

« You know I won't, » she said in a low, husky voice. « I have the North in me. And I'm just so _hot_ right now... »

She dipped her hand in the water and came to wet her neck and bust. She had the satisfaction to note that he was looking at her wide-eyed, his Adam's apple bobbing laboriously. She couldn't help but feel a little smug when she saw she could get this from him when two whores had had nothing. She tilted her head on the side, trying to look as innocent as a maiden – a fact disputed by her shirt, whose fabric was made slightly transparent by the water and that was now clinging to her forms.

« What about you ? » she asked, fighting very hard to keep from smiling. She could see he was lost, and that was all the reasons she needed to get things to the next level.

She went to the spot he stood, walking with deliberate slowness. She was expecting him to react but he stayed frozen. Was it because he was surprised ? Or because he didn't know how to tell her he wasn't seeing her that way ? She hesitated for a second, her old insecurities creeping up again, but she swept them away. He would have stopped her before if he didn't want it, right ?

She came as close of his body as she could without touching him. Slowly, she ran her hands up his arms, marvelling at their strength. She heard him take a sharp breath when they came to rest on his chest.

« Oh my god, you're shivering ! Are you cold ? » she complained, her candid voice completly at odds with the sensual gestures. She pressed her body against his. « Do you want me to warm you ? » she whispered in his ear.

That last question at least seemed to draw a reaction from him.

« You... You can't do that, » he snarled through clenched teeth, his breathing ragged and heavy. His muscles tensed under her touch. Arya wanted him to touch her as well, but it seemed it was still too early for that.

Her fingers played with the laces of his collar, furtively undoing them and pushing the fabric to the side. She ran her hand on his neck, and soon her mouth replaced it. Her frustration for not being able to touch his whole body was only equaling her satisfaction as she felt his cock hard against her thigh. She kissed her way up, his neck, his shoulder, listening how he panted under her ministrations. Her lips ran on his strong jaw until they got to his ear. Then, as lustily as she could, she whispered :

« Watch me. »

A low growl escaped him, and without preamble he crushed his mouth hard on hers. She answered happily ; _finally_ she was getting something. He poked his tongue on her lower lip and she opened for him, her hands rising to slide in his hair. His arms came to surround her, press her closer, and she could understand why. It seemed they could not be close enough – but it cost nothing to try.

Above them echoed a dark rumbling, and suddenly rain started pouring violently. The coldness made her screech, but if anything it made her press more against Gendry's body. She whimpered when her nipples rubbed against his skin. Their shirts slowly became transparent, and the thought of them standing half-naked in the rain made her squirm against him. One of his hand came to grip her breast while the other lowered on her ass. She moaned in his mouth when she felt him massaging it, slowly at first but then harder and deeper. The kiss became hotter as each felt their arousal grow, until she no longer knew where she ended and where he began. Dimly, she felt his fingers slide under her breeches, creeping closer and closer to her cunt with each flick of their tongues...

« GENDRY ! PRINCESS ! Where the hell are they ? »

Harwin's cry startled them both. They pulled apart quickly, panting heavily, their bodies still full of lust. Gendry stared at her, his eyes clouded by want, but said nothing. It was only when Harwin called again that they came back to reality. Arya took a step back. She so, _so_ much wanted to keep doing it, but she couldn't let any of the Brotherhood find out.

She escaped, runing towards the door where Harwin was waiting, her arms crossed against her chest to hide her breast.

« Where were you ? » reprimanded the older man. « You'll catch death, that's what you'll get ! And where is Gendry ? What were you doing both of you ? »

For half an heartbeat she couldn't find an answer. She opted for an half truth.

« Talking. It appears things needed to be said. »

She crossed the now almot empty room, climbed the stairs two at a time and stormed inside her room.

 


	2. Things Needed to Be Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, FINALLY the second chapter ! I know it took me forever, my only excuse is a busy schedule. It was supposed to be even longer (and take much more time), but I thought it would be better that way - I'll do a third one later. This is basically the events of the first chapter but from Gendry's point of view. I hope you'll enjoy !

It was all too much. He couldn't bear another moment spent next to her, watching her laugh and smile and jape and not being able to _be_ with her. He only wished he was the one she smiled at, japed of and who could make her laugh - even though he wasn't exactly the funny type. But she had decided to ignore him for the moment.

It wasn't always like that. Since that night in the brothel she sometimes talked to him, even if it was only commands or snatches of conversation ; but as far as time went, she softened. One night she had even shared her rabbit with him, and it reminded him so much of the past he couldn't stop grinning like a fool.

But at other times she could be as cold as the North she was from. Gendry knew why. She was still mad at him for his decision to become a knight for the Brotherhood. He knew she had taken it hard when he had told her, and years didn't seem to have softened the blow. He knew she still resented him for that, even if sometimes he caught her staring at him with longing in her eyes. But whatever she may feel, she never acted on it.

It hadn't been an easy decision for him either. It had bothered his mind for weeks, torn between reason and feelings. He didn't want to leave Arya, not at all. She was his constant companion, his friend – and sometimes he thought her even more than that. He wanted to be at her side for all his life. But he was also realistic. She was a princess. She was destined to rule and live in a palace and enjoy the finer meals ; he was only a bastard smith, probably born from a drunkard after a quick tumbling in the depth of Flea Bottom. His place wasn't at her side, it was below her, condamned to watch her walk and never being able to reach her. She wasn't aware of this, of course. She saw him as her friend, her brother maybe. It was obvious for her she would be able to keep him by her side. But Gendry wasn't so foolish. He knew the second they would set foot on Riverrun, they would tear her from his hands and he would never see her again.

But a knight... With the Brotherhood, he had had the chance to become somebody, someone who could, who would be allowed to be near her. A knight wasn't a prince of course, but he remembered the stories the young maids of Flea Bottom told each other, and how they would swoon over the names of « Florian » or « Aemon », and some of these even married the princess.

He knew he wouldn't marry her of course. She would wed a highborn lord with shining hair and smooth hands, who could offer her more than his love and his skills. But maybe, maybe he would be allowed to stay with her.

But things didn't go as planned. When the Hound abducted her, he had searched the woods for days – but at one point, he had had to let go. Or rather the others made him, as he was ready to search the entire country to bring her back. And then... he heard about this rumor about Arya being married to this « Ramsay Bolton », and how she cried and wept under his hands, but at the same time rumors of her and the Hound being seen in the Saltpans, right before it was ravaged, were heard. He didn't know which one was true, but in either case she was lost.

Sometimes he deplored his decision. Maybe he should have stayed with her. Maybe he would have been fine watching her from afar, as long as she was safe. He would have found a sympathetic wife, maybe even learnt to love her, and lived his life quietly in the shadow of Arya's happiness. Maybe if he hadn't been so selfish she would still be with him, alive and well, even if it was for a short time.

They had found the inn at the crossroads when they were searching for Arya, checking the rumor they had been seen there barely a fortnight ago. No trace of her of course. At this point, even him had given up. They were going more by habit than real conviction. They all believed her dead, and he was starting to think it too. The thought crushed his heart in a million pieces. He found himself brooding more and more often, barking at his brothers when he was japing in the past. Even working the metal didn't bring him the same joy as before. He still did, because they were in great need of swords and brestplates but it was work, nothing more.

At first the thought of Arya was always on his mind. Anger, guilt, sadness and grief was melting in his soul, leaving him restless and apathetic. Even Tom and Anguy gave up on the idea of comforting him. He was eating, sleeping, working, but all of these things left a bitter taste in his mouth. Gradually, he was left with the haunting thought that it was his fault if Arya died. If he had been strong enough, quick enough, he should have been able to catch her. Without him she would be with her family right now, not buried in an anonymous hill or left for the wolves.

He went to the inn more by habit rather than real belief (and because the others were sick of him). It wasn't empty, like he had expected it to be. Two girls, one of Arya's age (he felt his heart tighten when he saw her) and an older one were running it. It was full of children : boys, girls, some were barely able to walk, others were close to grown men and women.

His entrance had not been an easy one. He had barely set foot inside the building when one of the kids put a crossbow under his nose. Jeyne (the older girl) commanded to let him go, but not before inquiring his intentions. After he told them (and after several threats of mutilation, which was rather funny for a boy half his size), he sat for a meal and started asking about Arya and the Hound. But Jeyne was of no use. When they arrived the building was empty, and in a bad state. Some corpses were rotting inside (« Lannisters soldiers, » she specified) and the furnitures were all turned upside down, like a fight had happened. They had cleaned the room, got rid of the corpses and were running the inn since, welcoming all the children who were made orphans because of the war. But she hadn't heard of any girl or big man with a scarred face.

Gendry knew before he went it would be a dead-end, but the news still dishearted him. He wasn't seeing the point to keep looking for her. She was dead. It was over. He would never be the knight rescuing the princess, because there was no princess anymore.

***

He hadn't really meant to stay at first. Oh, Jeyne has asked. These were troubled times. It wasn't safe, especially for them – children and women were easy targets. But he was bound to the Brotherhood Without Banners, and as true her words were, he couldn't decide on his own.

However Lord Beric could, and did. « We have need of soldiers, that's true, but we need smiths more. I have plenty of soldiers but only one smith. You'll be more useful here than with us. » He had stated. Reluctantly, he had obeyed. He had still this little spark of hope that begged him to go back and search the Riverlands, whispering that she would be lost once he would give up ; but she was fainter and fainter every day, and ultimately his reason took hold of his mind.

He stayed there for five years. It wasn't an easy life, but it was still better than wander through the frozen forests, being drenched by the cold rain or sleeping on the bumpy floor with bugs crawling inside his clothes. Here at least he had a roof, a pallet and enough food, something hard to find these days.

But... things weren't the same as they were before. The thought of Arya still haunted him at night. He had lost interest in everything, including his work ; he only did it because swords were needed. Where steel was singing before, it now clang dully under his hammer.

She did became a painful memory too. With years passing, she slowly slid back in a corner of his head. Life was getting much harder with winter and wolves and robbers and thieves, and more urgent matters filled his mind. It was only at night, when he was alone in his bed, that he allowed him to think of her, this little girl he had failed to protect and he would never see again.

Until this day.

At first he hadn't recognized her. He had only glanced outside, when he heard the noise of hooves, to make sure it was the Brotherhood and not some bandits. He had been surprised to see a feminine figure amongst them. He didn't think she was a whore – they usually didn't accompany the men in their wanderings – but she wasn't some victim they would bring here to be comforted either. Even from the distance he could see she knew how to mount, how to _ride_ well even, and she was carrying herself with the lethal grace of those who know how to survive in this world.

They dismounted quickly, rushing in to avoid the rain. He watched as Harwin told her a few words, wondering why he looked at her with such reverence. Then the woman pushed back her hood, reveling sharp features, golden skin and a mane of dark hair that tumbled down her back. She seemed to be beautiful, even from the distance ; maybe it wasn't reverence but only admiration on Harwin's face.

Unlike the others she insisted to bring her mount to the stables herself. One of the oldest boy led her, blushing everytime she spoke words to him. They soon disappeared from his sight and he went back to his sword. His interest had faded quickly ; he was sure that her story wasn't worth it anyway.

He tried to work again but hunger growled in his belly. With a little bit of luck the men would have brought some meat, but you had to be fast if you wanted some so he took off his apron, put on his shirt and headed to the common room.

The unknown woman was going out of the stables when he passed by. He was about to let her pass when she rose her face to him.

His world crumbled, lost in the grey of her eyes. Unique eyes, eyes he saw on one and only one person.

Arya.

***

He couldn't believe it. His mind was playing tricks with him. Arya Stark was either dead and buried, or into the hands of a sadistic monster who dared call himself the Lord of Winterfell. She wasn't here, in front of him, wrapped in a coat too big for her and looking at him with these sharp, stormy eyes.

But... the girl couldn't be more than sixteen – Arya's age if she had still been alive. She had the same brown hair – though longer and better combed -, the same eyes, the same long face. She was still slim, but her height gave her a slender silhouette rather than scrawny.

But... On the other hand, she seemed different as well. There was something hard and unyielding in her now. Before he could see she was only a frightened little girl, despite all her courage and efforts. Now it would been pointless to look for any trace of weakness in her. From her came an aura of fierceness, of danger she didn't used to have.

And yet he couldn't help but grab her and crush her against him so hard he didn't know he was greeting her or trying to melt her into his body.

« Is that you ? Is that really you ? » he kept saying like a fool, like if he could anyhow turn her into Arya.

After an instant of hesitation she had put her hands on his back, and somehow that small gesture was enough to convince him. It was her. It was Arya. It was his friend, and the girl he had failed to protect didn't need any protection ; she was doing fine on her own.

He only released her, reluctantly, when he saw she had troubles breathing. The warmth of her breath left a strange sensation on his chest.

« Arya... How ? I thought you were dead, we all thought you were... »

_Did you know I couldn't live without you ?_

The intensity of his feelings surprised him. He wasn't the goofy type, begging for a look or a smile of his beloved ; finding a wife had never been on top of his priorities. Sometimes he caught Willow's hopeful looks or two of the orphan girls giggling together as he passed by them, but it never rose in him anything but amusement or embarrassment. He figured he still had time for that.

But things were different inside his heart. How could he ever protect a wife if he had not be able to protect _her_ ? How could he ever forget her when he saw her face in all the orphan girls at the inn ?

He wondered if she knew. He wondered if she would let him tell her.

« I'm not. »

Her tone was like a slap in his face. It was hard, cold, impenetrable like a wall of ice. There was nothing in it, no emotion. When he could tell what she was thinking only by her voice before, now he felt nothing but indifference towards him.

It broke his heart more surely that hatred.

He stared at her, dazed. She hold under his gaze until something flicked into her eyes ; but she looked down and muttered :

« I'm sorry Gendry. Harwin is waiting for me. »

He knew that was a lie but he let her step back and go into the inn. When she closed the door, it was like she closed another on his heart.

***

She had given him the silent treatment for weeks now. It wasn't fair. She was talking to everyone except him. He didn't know what he had done to piss her off that much – but he was determined to know.

It was a new girl he discovered. The Arya of his memories was brave and protective, but also wary and angry. She had a hard time laughing – and who could blame her ? After all the things they had been through. This one flirted and teased and joked, never hesitating to call on the men. At other times she plunged into deep silences, her attention focused on everything around her. It almost frightened him to see how intense she was in these moments. Sometimes she seemed to hear things no other could, or see farther, or even smell things they were unable to discern.

And sometimes he found back the little girl he knew. In her stubborness when she insisted to take the first watch. The way she bit her lip when she was nervous – however with her new lips it awoke a whole other feeling in him – or the kindness she had shown to the orphans when they were still at the inn.

It had been quite a mess when he had told Jeyne and Willow his decision to go with the Brotherhood. The littler had shouted, ranted he was selfish and _couldn't_ leave them and stormed out of the room. Jeyne had been calmer but the weight of her disappointment had been even harder to bear than Willow's screams.

« It's because of her, isn't it ? »

Wordless, he couldn't do anything but nod. They both knew who she referred to.

« Is that because she's pretty ? You're falling for a beautiful face like all the others ? I didn't thought you were like that Gendry. I thought you were different. »

He could hear the bitterness in her tone, but he knew it wasn't because of feelings for him. If anything they were friends, something close to brother and sister. He let that slide. After all without him they were close to helpless, even if some of the boys were starting to get big.

He shaked his head.

« I... I have to. I mean she... I thought... »

He couldn't find the words to make her _understand_. How he had missed her. How the idea of abandoning her again was unbearable. He didn't even know if she would want him but he had to try.

However Jeyne, thanks to the odd sense women sometimes had, seemed to understand at least a little. She softened and got up, waving at him like a queen dismiss a servant.

« Do what you have to do then. »

And there he was, wandering through the woods and the rain in hope the girl who haunted his mind during all these years would finally admit his presence. But he was starting to get tired. The rain was pouring down on them for days now, and all he wished was to be back to the fire of his forge.

Luckily Lem announced there was an inn not far away. They decided to go there (it wasn't really an option, actually, as one more night under this weather would make them kill each other) and an hour later they got to hang their wet coat and warm their feet by a fire. Tom exchanged a few words with the innkeeper, who brought them onion broth, ale and a sour, dark wine.

Soon enough, with their tiredness and the relief of finally being sheltered, they found themselves relaxing and enjoying their time. Soon enough most of them were drunk. Some whores had found their way inside and were entertaining them. It had been a long time since they were this relaxed, especially with the continuous rain driving them crazy.

He scanned the room, instinctively looking for her. She was sitting by the fire, her back to the wall. He smiled. Even as a child, Arya had shown some survival reflexes and he knew she hated to be surprised. She liked to be able to see the door and act consequently.

She seemed rather upset. She was sliding her fingers on the edge of her glass, her eyes lost on the crowd. She had been quite sharp these last days, even with the others, but he figured it was because of the rain like everyone else. Now he wasn't sure. He wanted to go to her and make her talk but that would serve nothing. Arya, like her sigil, was hard to tame. You had to wait for her to come to you, or else you'd make her flee – or attack. The safest way was to wait.

So he did. He sat with Harwin and Tom, drinking and laughing at Tom's mockeries and drunken songs about wanton maids – all of them, he noticed, depicting a girl looking suspiciously like Arya. He couldn't help but let his gaze slip on her sometimes and each times he noted how beautiful she was. The fire was casting shadows on her face and her eyes were alive with its light ; they seemed to glow like molten silver, as fascinating and dangerous. But with the night going on he found himself focusing on another part of her face. Her lips were ripe and red and swollen, and it always made his heart skip a beat when she worried or licked them to keep the dryness away.

He had promised Jeyne he wasn't here for a pretty face, but all he wanted at that moment was to feel these lips on his. A flash of Arya on her knees crossed his mind ; but he vigorously pushed it away, blushing furiously and taking a sip of ale to hide it.

At some point two whores came to sit by them, each taking place next to him. He paid them no mind despite their attemps to catch his attention. It was usually the case, everytime they went to a brothel, and he had sometimes let go of his instincts ; but somehow, doing that in front of Arya was impossible. Maybe he was only a nostalgic fool but he couldn't as long things weren't clear with her.

He was getting a little tipsy and the touches of the women aroused fire in his blood. He laughed at one of Tom's jokes, dirtier than the others, when his gaze fell on Arya. Laughter died on his lips when he saw the tall man besides her table. He could see his greasy hair shining from his seat and his crooked teeth when he smirked. Drunk, he staggered slightly as he spoke with her. Her face was hard when she answered. He couldn't hear the words but he guessed it was a refusal, as the man left a few moments after. She did too and plunged into the night.

His attention was drawn back to their table when he felt a hand on his thigh, sliding slowly towards his crotch. The whore – Leyna ? Lana ? - flashed him a smile but it faded when he shook his head. He stood up, staggering slightly when all the alcohol in his blood came rushing into his head. He muttered a « Need some fresh air » to Harwin and Tom and took his leave.

The coldness of the night hit him hard after the overheated atmosphere of the inn. He shivered as he realised he had forgotten his coat inside. The ground was mushy from all the water it had absorbed but the rain had stopped. The air was pure, washed, and his head cleared as he took deep breathes. He looked around, hoping and trying not to find Arya.  _ Let her come _ , he told himself ; but it was hard. He wanted to talk to her, to touch her, to feel the warmth of her being against him.

He found her on the well next to the stables. « Arya, » he said flatly, trying to sound detached and cool, like he was here by accident and definitively not because he was stalking her.

She looked at him with these sultry grey eyes, glassy with all the wine she had drank, her lips slightly parted. Drops of water glistened under the light of the moon, running down her face and neck and going to loose themselves under her shirt. Some strands of loose brown hair were sticking to her neck ; he wondered if they would look like that after he had fucked her senseless.

It wasn't a little girl he had in front of him, but a woman grown. As much as he wanted to go back in time, it was not only the Arya of his memories with a few more years ; but also a woman he knew nothing of, dark and seductive and inaccessible. This woman could break his neck as well as his heart ; somehow, it made him want her more. But he couldn't. The deal hadn't changed : she was still a princess, no matter how deadly, self-sufficient or fierce she was.

It wasn't Arya's opinion though. Her hands were leaving a trail of fire on his skin, her lips a blaze ; clearly the impropriety of his birth didn't matter for her. It never had. He recalled all the times she had made plans for the future, all the times she had told him how things would get better for the both of us. She had never doubted a second they would stay together. But Gendry knew better.

But all his hesitations were nothing against the fire of her will. She wanted him, she wanted him hard, she had made the first steps – and somewhere in his mind a ball of happiness was threatening to burst and kill him. What was propriety against the will of a woman ? Especially this one. He was trying to be strong, to be firm, to be the reasonable one... But he wanted it as much as she did. More perhaps. He had dreamed of that for years, knowing it was the dream of a fool and would never happen. But it was, against all odds ; and he wasn't strong enough to fight it. So when she put her lips on his, he pretended it was a dream and did his best to enjoy it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize now that I reread it that Gendry thinks a lot about Arya. I don't think he is obsessed with her (in the books) ; but eh, it's a Gendry/Arya and it's a one-shot, so I can't explore all his facets.
> 
> I know there isn't much action, there'll be more in the second.
> 
> I'm sorry if the end seems a little weak, like I said it was supposed to continue. I already wrote half of it, it shouldn't take long to be posted !

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, I won't let you like that. This story have an other chapter, this time from Gendry's point of view !


End file.
